by: Shane Arthur

Greg Koons
Bottega Art and Wine Gallery
208 N. Front Street
June 5th, 8pm • free
www.myspace.com/gregkoons

I’m not usually the type of person who thinks much of stereotypes, but it seems to me that the pronunciation of words says a lot about a person. For instance, let’s suppose we hear a man pronounce the last syllable of the word “Vietnam” like “jam”; really, it isn’t a terribly uncommon idiom to hear in the South. In such a case, it’s probably safe to assume that same guy enjoys the simpler pleasures in life and can’t be bothered with intricate nuances. It wouldn’t be out of character for that sort of person to be found leaving a Golden Corral, one hand on his belly and the other holding open the door for his aged grandmother—phonemes and cholesterol be damned.

The singer of the band Greg Koons and the Misbegotten is just that sort of guy—only Koons is a Pennsylvania native who has been learning his way around a guitar since he was 14. He proudly identifies himself as the son of a truck driver and Vietnam veteran—himself being a veteran in his own right, at least of the 2008 South by Southwest music festival in Austin. When listening to Koons’ songs, it is obvious that he’s just a simple kind of man, searching for the beautiful side of life even when much of what he sees around him is cluttered and gray. I personally find it hard not to like a guy whose debut album, Welcome to the Nowhere Motel, features song titles like “Los Angeles Looks Prettier When You See It on TV” and “Candy Ain’t a Hooker No More.”

Greg Koons and the Misbegotten’s sound can be described most easily as pop-folk, honing an obligatory down-to-earth vibe rarely found this side of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. Koons’ voice contains a pleasing mix of throaty crooning and country dialect. There is something undeniably compelling in hearing a grown man sing, “That’s not me, drivin’ down the street/That’s not me, with tears on my cheeks/…that’s just someone that looks like I do.” He offers a vulnerable intimacy in his lyrics that many musicians claim to have but few actually master.

Koons says he works into his music “a reflection of the resliency [sic] that I saw in many people that I have met along the way in life, especially those people that wear their elegance on the inside.” And his talent for being a storyteller easily keeps pace with the claim. Koons paints a scene with his singing that sends his audience wherever he wants them to transport. The effect is something almost cinematic and goes a long way toward getting listeners to empathize with his perspective, even when that perspective is whittled down and narrower than might be expected.

That said, the music still has faults. On an individual basis, songs tend to lack melodic variety that is so essential for listening longevity. Still, there is something to be said for folk music’s inherent simplicity, and I think perhaps this was an intentional aspect of the band’s craft.

By the time Koons’ album wraps up with its final two tracks, it really isn’t all that surprising to hear him pronounce “Vietnam” incorrectly. The song “A Picture of My Pa Before He Died in Vietnam” would sound jarring if it bothered with anything but the truly important—and personal—details. As it is, the song stands as Welcome to the Nowhere Motel’s most moving track, and, alone, it is reason enough to go see Greg Koons this Friday, June 5th, at Bottega Gallery on Front Street.